Art Punks and German Drunks
by MissMassacre413
Summary: Mathieu Williams is perfectly content to sit alone in his room with his music. However, he won't deny the friendship of a stranger from his brother's party. Prucan friendship, pre-slash. T for some swears. Ongoing, sporadic updates. Eventual Slash.
1. Chapter 1

Art Punks and German Drunks

Fanbase: Hetalia

Pairing: Pre-slash Gilbert x Mathieu. Human! AU.

Rating T, for like two swears.

A/N: O hman it has been forever since Hetalia was a thing I liked. But. We're still gonna do this. I'm working on the UsxUk too, and geez why so many stories?! On a side note, I might actually continue this. It'd be at my leisure though, so I wouldn't expect timely updates. I gotta say, I'm a bit worried about OOCness here…. EEEEEKKKKK. I think I'm fine?

Disclaimer: I don't even own a copy of the book, guys. I'm stuck with scanlations

Mathieu Williams has never really been popular. He's never had many friends, or been very outgoing. He's like a ghost, invisible to all but those who believe in him. Which is pretty much limited to his step brother, Alfred, and his best friend, Elizabeth. Oh, and a stuffed bear. Named Kumijiro.

So when the doorbell rings at six o clock on a Friday night, he doesn't rush to answer the door. They're not there for him. They're there for Alfred's party. But of course, it's Arthur answering the door, ever the doting housewife. If he weren't so damn… what was the word? _Tsundere._

A sharp British accent fills the air. "Hello Antonio, Gilbert. That bastard Francis coming?"

The response is lost to Mathieu as h turns up the volume on his CD player, nestling deeper into his sheets, Les Mis open on his Kindle. He isn't really paying attention, though. He's read it before.

'Well,' he thinks, 'I shouldn't be so judgmental. I've always liked Arthur, and he's a good guy with a good taste in music. I probably would never have found Sex Pistols on my own.' Mat offers a small smile to the empty room. "Plus, as mean as he can be, he's always treated Alfred well. Yeah, Arthur's fine."

This admittedly useless bit of information set in stone, he huggles Kumijiro closer and 'turns' the page.

A few hours have passed, like, seven and a half, when there is a knock on Mathieu's door. He jumps a bit at the initial shock. "Aren't all of Al's friends downstairs? Yes, in the basement." These little parties are a fairly common occurrence, and he knows Alfred likes to hide out in the basement where nobody goes so any lost bit of evidence is safe when their parents return. "Meh," he reasons, "One's probably just drunk. Thinks this is the bathroom."

His voice betrays his mind as he calls, "C-come on in," despite his thought from a moment ago. And to his surprise, the door opens.

Mathieu is seated at an easel, paintbrush in hand, glasses pushed up in his messy, curly blonde hair, violet eyes furrowed. He's rocking back and forth on a small, paint-splattered wooden stool.

"Bathroom's a-across the hall," He says quietly, not looking at his intruder.

"I know." It's a thick, somewhat arrogant German accent. Mathieu half recognizes it. "Can I come in?"

Mathieu cocks his head. What? _What?! _"Um, sure."

Door close, footsteps. "You're… Mathieu, right?"

What the fuck? Who is this guy? Mat takes this opportunity to turn and face him, only to discover his intruder standing less than a foot away, smelling faintly of alcohol. "Um, yeah. And you're…_ maple! _I'm sorry, I can't-"

"Gilbert." The tall, silver-haired stranger offers. "Ludwig's older brother."

"Ludwig. The one Feliciano always trails?" Oh, the scary blonde guy. He was a grade above Alfred and Mathieu, which made him a junior. He came around sometimes, but Alfred always seemed a little wary of him, too. Mostly, he just followed Feliciano when he came to study.

"Kesese, no, usually it's the other way around. So, what kind of brother ditches a little party in his own house?"

Mat shrugs. "Not into it. I don't much like gatherings at all, actually." He's tired, the late hours making his thoughts blur, giving him courage he forgets he doesn't actually have. "Always invade friends' little brothers' rooms?" Gilbert's red eyes show a flash of confusion. "Well you look sober, so I'm guessing you didn't need directions to the bathroom."

"Oh, well, my _amazing _ears picked up on some Sex Pistols and came to see if Arthur left his iPod on or something. A little _heavy _for a tiny art punk, isn't it?"

"Art Punk?" It's Mathieu's turn to look dumb.

Gilbert smirks. "Easel, lab coat?"

"Oh. Well, I can clearly handle it."

"Kesese, clearly. Well nice talking to you, Birdie, but I really do have to piss. I'll come back when they pass out drunk."

"Sure. Bye, Gil- wait. Why aren't you totally shitfaced?"

"Didn't feel like it," he shrugs. "Not that kind of Friday. Plus, now I have a friend I probably wouldn't have made drunk. Man, my timing is _awesome!" _Gilbert beams, rather arrogantly, and ghosts out of Mathieu's room, leaving a gaping Canadian boy behind him.


	2. Elizabeth is Not An Advice Column

**Author's Note: Yeah, I'll try not to take too long between updates like this. Also, I am trying really hard not to fill this with gay. I ship a lot of things in this series, and while I'd like to pile them into one big mush, in a normal High School AU, it makes no sense that EVERYONE would be gay. So if ever there is too much gay, just let me know. I'll fix it. Thank you! Also, I couldn't remember how to spell Elizabeta's last name. Uh. SHIT, did I write her correctly, I don't even know.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Sometimes I wish I did, though.**

Chapter 2- Elizabeth Is Not An Advice Column.

Mathieu wakes up in his bed with his glasses askew, Kindle on the floor, and sticky note on his forehead.

Wait a minute, sticky note?

Groggily, he sits up, his mass of curly blond hair sticking up at odd places, and yawns. He tears the offending sticky note off of his head, and struggles to comprehend it.

'_sorry,' _the note reads in a large, lazy scrawl. _'you were asleep, the others got shitfaced, and me being as awesome as i am had to be the designated driver. But it was nice talking to you, that should probably be something that happens more often._

_-gilbert' _There is a phone number attached, but it sort of gets drowned out in his thoughts.

Gilbert? Mathieu's mind reels. Who the fuck is Gilbert? Oh. Right. That guy who burst into his room in the middle of the night. Mat reads the note over again, violet eyes pulling into a frown as he scans the number at the bottom. What, is he supposed to text? Or call? Why can't they just talk at school or something? Isn't it kind of weird, giving your number to a kid you talked to for maybe five minutes? All of these questions spin through the teenager's head, and he decides that it is much too early to worry about this kind of shit, what time is it anyway, like eight in the morning, and yes Cheerios sound great right about now, thank you very much.

The sleepy sixteen year old trudges downstairs and is unsurprised to discover that he is the only one awake. He is also not surprised to find Arthur spent the night, and is now huddled up on the living room floor with some green winged bunny stuffed animal cuddled to his chest. The crooked lampshades, pillows on the floor, and two beer bottles by the door are the only things that suggest a party was held, and these are things easily picked up. Mathieu smiles as he takes a quiet bit of his cereal. Good, he'll make Alfred clean it up.

The morning continues on as normal, with few bumps. Arthur ended up straightening the living room, as Mathieu had predicted, and he and Alfred had ended up in a rather loud argument over it. Mathieu had listened from his room. Essentially, Arthur yelled about immature, lazy gits, and Alfred had countered with 'Dude, calm down!' and some comment about how cute he was when he was angry that had the English Gent leaving in a huff, slamming the door behind him. The young Canadian boy suspected it was nothing, but made a mental note to ask his brother about it later.

Now, the same quiet teenager sits on his bed with a decision to make. To text or not to text, that is the question. And, strangely enough, it was one not even the intelligent A student could answer. He worries at his lip. What if it's a joke? What if that guy was just being nice and really didn't want to talk to him? That would make sense. Alfred is a pretty popular kid, and Mathieu is kind of a shy loser, so that dude must just have felt bad for him.

But, just as last night, he finds his body moving without his brain's consent. Seriously, what is up with that? Shakily, he types the number into his phone, saves it as a question mark, and enters a message:

_Um, hey. You left a number, so I assumed you wanted me to text._

That sounds stupid, oh hell that sounds stupid, why is he even doing this? "It's not like I need more friends," he says aloud, his whisper-like voice barely breaking the silence in the house. Silence? Alfred must have gone out. "I am totally not lonely. I have Elizabeth, and Arthur, and Alfred, and I am totally fine. This is not a good idea- Wait. Elizabeth!" Yes! That's it. Quickly, he saves the pathetic message and opens up a new one, to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth Hedervy is a nice girl. The whole family is nice, and had been close with the Joneses long before Mathieu and his mother made it into the picture when he was ten. Elizabeth has been his best and only friend since, and remains the only person he trusts. She is bright, and a lovely cook. She is the sort of girl who wears nice dresses to school and acts the part of a lady, but still knows how to kick some serious ass. And she has, on multiple occasions. Elizabeth is very pretty, and usually has some sort of creep chasing her skirt. But she doesn't ignore it, and doesn't soak up the attention. She turns straight around and hits the guy with the nearest frying pan. Which she kind of always has, actually. Come to think of it, what does she do with those frying pans? Where does she keep them? Mathieu makes another mental note to ask another day.

_Hey, Lizabeth. Are you busy? I need to talk to you._ He sends the message and waits for a response, which comes about a minute later.

_Not horribly so. Roderich is coming soon, though, so I'd make it fast._

Right, it's Saturday. That's when she hangs out with her snooty, sissy boyfriend. Wording it out in his head, he dials her number and waits for her to pick up.

"Hello? Mattie? What's happened? What's wrong?" She asks, high voice sounding polite but also a little anxious, and Mathieu can hear some pop music playing in the background.

"Have you ever heard of a Gilbert Beilschmidt?" Mathieu asks, his words tumbling out of his mouth faster than he'd like. "Ludwig's brother? Because Alfred had one of his lame basement parties last night and at like midnight this dude comes strolling in and calls me an art punk and acts like we've known each other forever and tells me he's Ludwig's brother and does Ludwig even _have a brother?_ And then he says that he has to leave and that he'll come back when the rest are too drunk to notice he's gone and I guess he must have came back when I was asleep because I wake up and there's a sticky note on my forehead and there's a number at the bottom? And I don't know because like what if he's a bad kid? I can't get into the wrong crowd, Liz, I can't have my first crowd be the wrong crowd and _what do I do!?"_

"Well, for starters," Elizabeth says calmly, and once again Mathieu finds himself admiring her composure. He's never that composed, it's nice to know somebody who is. "You slow the hell down. What are you asking?"

"If Ludwig has a brother, and if you know him."

"Beilschmidt? Yeah, his name is Gilbert. He's actually a pretty cool kid. You talked to him?"

"Yeah, at one of Al's parties last night."

"Ohhhh," Elizabeta laughs, 'that's what you were saying! No, I wouldn't worry. He isn't a bad guy."

"How do you know for sure, though?"

"We were friends as kids, back when I still pretended I was a boy. I think we might've actually dated in middle school. Now really I only talk to him when he picks on Roddy, and I know what face you're making over there, Mathieu Williams, no he is not some horrible bully. He's just really immature and kind of self-centered. You should talk to him, it's about time you made a new friend. Maybe now you'll have somebody else to ask advice of."

Mathieu's face falls. Shit, has he been annoying? "I- I'm sorry," He stutters.

"What? Oh, no, it's fine. I'm just really not an advice column. Listen Mattie, you go make a friend, alright? Now I gotta go. Roderich is due any minute and he gets really pissy if I'm late."

Mat laughs, face lighting back up again. "Ha, alright. Have fun, Elizabeth. Thanks, see ya."

"Yup, bye."

He waits for the line to drop dead, and when it does he sets his phone down gently and runs his hand through his hair. Everything about this seems to be screaming '**STUPID IDEA. THIS IS A STUPID IDEA', **but it looks like that isn't going to stop this suddenly courageous Canadian kid, because there he is, opening his drafts folder and sending the text.

He doesn't regret it until after it's sent.

**Oh look, crappy cliffhanger. xD I promise nothing horrible happens. Really. Also I like the length on this one, much longer than I thought I could get it. YESSSS. (lol I usually get lazy halfway through.)**


End file.
